


Proximity

by ReverseMousetrap



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling, Fluff, M/M, Relationship Development, Sharing a Bed, gayperion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 01:45:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18356072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReverseMousetrap/pseuds/ReverseMousetrap
Summary: Four times Rhys and Vaughn shared a bed, and one time they didn't.





	Proximity

**Author's Note:**

> This fic includes material from a tumblr post I made [here](https://reversemousetrap.tumblr.com/post/182976522069/mini-fic-the-long-road).

The first time they share a bed, they're in college.

Rhys only owns one set of sheets, but someone much bigger and tougher has already claimed the dryer, and it's almost midnight. He drags his bag of wet laundry back to the dorm and lets himself in, sitting down gingerly on his bare mattress with a sigh. Nobody's ever given him a straight answer about how many generations of students have passed out on there - or worse. He keeps his hands in his lap.

His dejected return has Vaughn stirring from sleep and turning to peer at him with unfocussed eyes.

“You okay, bro?” Vaughn mumbles.

“Yeah, just screwed up on laundry,” he replies. “Do you have, like, a hairdryer? I might be able to get the sheet dried out at least…”

“You can't be serious.” His friend reaches for his glasses and fumbles with the lamp by his bed, studying Rhys’ slumped posture with pity. “Uh, I guess you could take this bed for a few hours.”

“You have that quiz in the morning,” Rhys says, somewhere between stern and affectionate. “You need it more.”

Vaughn scratches the stubble on his chin, his head already falling slowly back to the pillow. “Maybe we can both squeeze in here?”

“I…”

But Vaughn has already shuffled over to the wall, turning his back and curling up to leave a foot and a half worth of space on the bed. Rhys hesitates, but then an icy draft snakes through the building and against the back of his neck, and sharing starts to sound like a fantastic idea.

He slips in beside his best friend, the two of them lying back to back, and somehow despite the tiny surface area it doesn’t feel cramped or awkward. For the first time in a month he drifts straight into a peaceful sleep - and when they wake up the next morning, Rhys just blushes and offers to buy breakfast.

\---

The fourth time they share a bed, they're hauling a comatose Yvette home from Hyperion’s Mercenary Day drinks. As soon as they cross the threshold to her room, she kicks off her heels and collapses face-first onto the pile of pillows on her bed. Vaughn pulls a blanket over her while Rhys fills a glass with water and leaves it on her bedside table. She slurs her heartfelt thanks, and then two seconds later she's out like a light.

They realise they're not far behind as they wander back into the living room. Vaughn keeps mumbling that the ceiling is spinning, and Rhys has already unbuttoned his shirt halfway to cool off, one shoulder coquettishly exposed. They look at each other and shrug before bursting into laughter, hugging each other so they can remain standing.

Suddenly Vaughn slumps in his arms, slipping to the floor, and Rhys dives down next to him in alarm, cupping his pale face.

“Vaughn?” he breathes, distraught.

“I'm okay. I just gotta…”

Luckily, Rhys knows both of his friends well enough that he can locate a bucket under the sink and be back before Vaughn throws up - which he does, spectacularly. Rhys pats him on the back, talking him through it in gentle, disjointed ramblings.

A cab is out of the question, but Yvette has a guest room which is usually empty and pristine apart from a fine layer of dust. Rhys supports Vaughn through the doorway, guiding him to the bed and laying him gently down. He brushes the hair back from his friend's sweat-soaked forehead, smiling at him.

“I warned you about martinis,” says Rhys.

“I know.” Vaughn looks up at him, not letting go. There’s something earnest in his eyes. “Rhys, can...can you come here? I need to tell you something.”

With only a small pull on his sleeve he lets himself fall onto the mattress, the two of them quiet and still as they lie next to each other in the dark.

“You're...you're a really good friend,” Vaughn whispers. “Thanks. For everything.”

“You too.” Rhys moves in closer to hug him, recoiling a second later. “Ugh, dude, your breath _stinks.”_

He rolls over but snuggles back against his best friend. Vaughn tentatively puts an arm around him, and when Rhys doesn't object he rests his forehead against his shoulder. They fit together like puzzle pieces, breathing together in the darkness. Rhys feels his pulse slow and his eyelids grow heavy, and the last thing he thinks before he passes out is that he feels perfectly safe.

\---

By the time they're in a caravan on Pandora, they've lost count. They pass through each other's space without concern or hesitation, a dance years in the making, their own kind of  normal. Others have come and gone; they are each other’s constant.

Rhys has been driving for hours. When the rocky trails finally give way to smooth, well-travelled sands, he relinquishes the wheel with a dramatic yawn - but Fiona is indifferent to his suffering as usual.

"Everyone's asleep, so you'll have to take the floor," she says with a shrug.

"Mmm. Great." He rubs the back of his neck and tries to untwist his spine before he hauls himself out of the driver’s seat.

Athena is lying down on one section of the couch. Her eyes are closed, but Rhys doubts that she ever truly switches off. He all but presses himself against the wall to stay as far from her battle-hardened reflexes as possible.

Vaughn is asleep on the other side, curled up as always with his face pressed into the upholstery. There is a seat's worth of space at the end; exhausted, Rhys lowers himself down onto the battered cushion next to his friend. He rests his metal hand on Vaughn's shoulder, stroking it absentmindedly with his thumb as he stares at the ceiling. The solid warmth under his hand reminds him that he’s still alive. That he’s not alone.

“Rhys?”

“Oh, did I wake you up? Sorry.”

“S'okay.” Vaughn rubs his eyes and shifts over a few inches, patting the space beside him. “You look tired.”

“I'd go so far as to say exhausted.” Rhys drapes his slim frame around his best friend, pulling them together side by side until Vaughn’s face is tucked into his chest. It’s stuffy and sweltering in the caravan but right now he can’t imagine being anywhere else. “How are you holding up, bro?”

“I've had worse,” mumbles Vaughn, and Rhys thinks he can feel the wry smile that comes with it.

“You're doing great.”

He tips his head forward, burying his face in Vaughn's hair; for a moment, he finds himself thinking about kissing his friend on the forehead. With the way they're curled up and the bumps in the road he'd have plausible deniability. But he keeps the idea to himself, shoves it out of the way as he holds Vaughn close. There’ll be time to figure it all out. If they survive.

“Thanks for sticking around,” says Rhys.

Vaughn chuckles quietly. “You can't get rid of me that easily.”

He smiles. “Good.”

\---

In the rare lucid hours when he can’t find the next dose of painkillers, Rhys feels something deeper than shattered nerves and ruined skin: an aching loneliness that pools in every cell of his broken body.

His vision is blurring again. The new eye is a crude imitation of the old Hyperion model, prone to unexpected reboots and visual aberrations. Rhys looks away from his computer screen before the headache can fully kick in; he knows that there’s nothing he can do but try to catch a few hours’ sleep until the software recalibrates.

He checks the time, only to find his watch has stopped.

He wants to stand up and throw his chair aside in a cathartic rage, but instead he just gives it a listless shove as he drags himself over to the employee couch he’s been sleeping on and drapes himself around the broken springs.

He tries to remember how it feels to touch another human being, to hear something other than his own voice. To have someone comfort him, even for a second. But everything he knows is gone, and he can’t hide from the fact he's the one who destroyed it. He clutches a pillow to his chest and curls up, burying his face in it, and he finds himself conjuring up the memory of Vaughn.

Vaughn is the one he knew the best, the longest, and yet even in his haze he understands it’s more than that. He’s always called Vaughn his best friend, but he realises now that those words are not enough. He doesn’t just miss him the way he misses the others, the ones he failed. He misses a part of himself, and he’s not sure if it’s a wound that will heal.

“Come back to me,” he whispers, and though he squeezes his eyelids shut, a hot tear escapes. “I can't do this alone.”

\---

It’s late morning, slipping into early afternoon; Rhys lets out a deep, contented sigh as he rests his head on the bare skin of Vaughn’s chest, feeling more than whole. Vaughn plays idly with his hair, fingertips scratching lightly at his scalp as the sunlight spills over them both.

“We should get up,” Vaughn mumbles. Rhys listens to the way his voice resonates. It makes him feel sleepy again.

“Yeah, probably.”

But neither of them make any effort to move, and when Rhys slips his hand into Vaughn’s and their fingers intertwine, he knows he’s found the place he belongs.


End file.
